The ceiling shook as another explosion boomed out. Shouts rang out around us.

I looked up at Firefly. Her eyes were wide open, taking it all in, but still straying back to my suit.

"We have to go," I said, straining to make my voice heard over the din.

"Huh?" she managed.

"We have to help!"

"Yeah," she said, in a bit of a daze, the closeness of my suit overtaking her mind.

"Do you know where it exploded?"

Her eyes refocused as she looked at me, her hair blowing in the wind of the hundreds of students trying to move towards the door. "A few blocks away?"

"Cool. Let's go," I told her.

"Where?"

"To the site of the explosion," I said. "We have to—"

She shook her head. "How do you think we'll be able to help?"

"Well—" I started, but a pair of guys in football uniforms ran into me. I stumbled against a wall just to feel it shake again.

I got to my feet and tried to speak again. "You can search for—"

"What?" she yelled, interrupting me.

The school shook again. I tried to get closer to her so I could speak, but only managed to get sucked into the crowd. After bobbing under the current through half a hallway, I resurfaced by making my way to a wall.

Looking around, I quickly spotted Firefly's unkempt hair in the crowd. I dove back in, ignoring curses and complaints to shove my way to her.

"We have to get out!" I shouted, and grabbed her wrist. My power pulsed into her skin, tracing neurons up to her head, but I stopped it before it could repeat the same message in her mind.

She looked at me uncomfortably, but didn't resist. I pulled her to the side.

"Okay," I said, still holding onto that warm circle of wrist. "First, we have to get out of school."

I couldn't hear her response, but through the contact we had, I could read it directly from her brain. I can't h—

I didn't let her finish the thought. "Yes you can. I know the way!"

With a jerk I pulled her into the crowd. I knew the school's structure well, so I took the fastest route through halls and down stairs, through masses of panicking students.

We ducked into a side corridor. "This is a shortcut!" I yelled.

Here we could run faster, unimpeded by the flood. The corridor stretched out, past empty classrooms and dropped backpacks, until it turned to the left. We kept going. It turned left again, and we found ourselves back in the crowd.

Firefly shouted something and my power translated it through her wrist to Thanks!

"No problem!" I yelled.

The student body spilled out through the front doors and into the parking lot.

"Okay, now's our chance," I told Firefly. Looking in her head, I could mostly see static, noise. She hadn't heard me.

It didn't matter. I tightened my grip on her wrist and pulled her towards the road, where we could escape. This finally got her attention, and she looked at me meaningfully. What? I parsed out from the bare twitching of her brainwaves.

"We have to go!" I said and tugged harder. "Look, Firefly—"

Before I could explain, we heard someone shouting over the din, and she turned her attention toward them.

"Everyone settle down!" A security guard yelled out over the crowd of people. At first it didn't take. He repeated himself a few times and each shout seemed to quiet the crowd down further. "This is not a drill," he added to the last repetition. "However, it is also not a call to panic. We will be moving to the track. You do not have permission to leave."

They were rounding us up into a giant pen, trapping us all together in one neat group, easy to take out with a single explosion. I could see teachers lurking on the outskirts of the crowd, watching should someone try to escape, hemming us in and forcing us to move along. Claustrophobia began to set in. I watched the skies for missiles and scanned the grass for mines.

Whether by malice or incompetence, the school staff had created the perfect death trap.

The security guard continued to talk, telling us to keep calm, encouraging us to take deep breaths and think happy thoughts. That it would all be over soon.

The crowd stayed in one place, but its constituents milled about. People stood, sat, walked by. Sometimes they'd brush by me, and in a flash of my power I'd see inside them. Skin, flesh, bones, and most of all blood.

Blood pumping through their bodies. Blood heating up as the Spring day warmed us. Blood that I couldn't help but imagine splattered all over me, all over everything around me, slick and congealing in a tiny dark space I couldn't leave.

I was brought back to the circumstances surrounding my moment of transformation.

One day, right before lunch started, I slipped out and went to find somewhere to hide. All I wanted was to eat my pita wrap away from Emma and her cronies, in relative safety, under a blanket of loneliness. Nobody followed me, so I thought I was safe, but it turned out my tormentors were a step ahead of me.

On the third floor, in an out of the way corridor, there was a broom closet that I'd often walked by. I'd noticed earlier in the day that it had been left ajar, so during lunch I snuck up to it and entered, closing the door behind me so nobody else could join.

It was almost cozy at first. The darkness reminded me of my mother's hair, and I let it embrace me.

I stood there in that cramped janitor's closet for a while, just munching on my pita wrap. I had just enough space to not have to touch anything, though if I leaned back, I could feel the hard plastic rim of some receptacle against my back. The only thing that bothered me was the smell coming from behind, a trash can that some lazy janitor hadn't yet dealt with properly.

Time ticked onward, and I continued to relax, drifting through the well-stocked pantry of my thoughts.

The pita wrap slowly disappeared, and I threw the wrapper into the closet behind me. Standing up, I stretched. Lunch was almost over. Time to slink back to class.

The door didn't budge. The handle turned, but nothing clicked. It wouldn't open. I pushed with a shoulder, bashed it with my fists, even dug my fingernails into the frame, all to no avail.

I was trapped.

As my struggles weakened and the severity of my situation caught up to me, I realized what had happened. They knew where I was going to go, how I hid away during lunch, how I searched for new spots each day. The door had been left ajar on purpose. They'd set it up so I'd get trapped in this peripheral closet.

I wasn't going to let them get away with this. I would get out.

First, I needed tools. I felt around the enclosed space. To my right, a bare wall and my backpack, which contained an art project that I refused to ruin. To my left, I could feel a series of mostly empty shelves. A few bottles, a bucket. A textbook. Nothing else.

I grabbed the bottles and twisted them all open. Kneeling down, I poured them out slowly by the bottom of the door, trying to ensure that as much fluid as possible leaked out from under the frame and into the hallway. If there was a big enough spill, maybe someone would investigate.

No sounds from the outside. I put my ear against the wood of the door and listened closely. Still nothing.

I tried banging the bucket against the door, hoping it would make be louder than my fist.

I opened the textbook and tried to jam a sliver of its cover into the doorframe, trying to imitate the credit card trick I'd seen in movies. It wouldn't fit.

Stepping back from the door, I bumped into the smelly trash can I'd been ignoring. It jostled.

There are moments in life where it feels like the rules have changed. Old support structures show their age. Foundations that looked solid just the other day become cracked, crumble, and turn to dust. Things fall apart, and you're left spinning in the void, reaching out for absolutely anything to hold on to, to end that dizzying drop, to regain stability at any cost.

I turned around and plunged my hands into the trash can. I pulled out bits of trash, searching for anything useful.

Paper towels, crumpled up essays, a torn up shirt, and lots and lots of tampons and sanitary pads. I threw everything by the door, looking desperately for something to help me either break the door or pick the lock.

A piece of wood turned out to be balsa wood. It broke almost immediately when applied to the frame of the door. Soggy books were useless. The remnants of someone's lunch squished as I dug it out.

The can was empty. I'd even removed the bag. And yet, I still didn't have what I was looking for. I looked around. There was a possibility, however slim, that a lockpick or bobby pin or something useful had slipped into the pile of used tampons and pads I'd discarded, as I hadn't opened any of them up.

I shuffled a foot over to the pile of feminine sewage and plucked a used sanitary pad from the pile. It was folded up, sticky side keeping it closed. I licked a finger and then dug a fingernail into the flap, slowly peeling it open. Close examination revealed blood and nothing else.

I threw it to the side and grabbed another. It reeked, smelling like the months-old remains of a rotting half-aborted fetus. I didn't—couldn't—care. I opened it up.

The pile by my side grew as the one in front of me shrank. Some were sealed shut, some were throw in just loosely folded over. One was inverted, blood side out. I tried to get as little blood on myself as possible, picking at it slowly and holding it away from me. Another was a mass of bloody wet toilet paper that I had to unravel bit by bit only to find nothing inside.

Over time the motions became natural. I found the rhythm, my fingers flashing across seams and under folds, quickly dancing over bloody spots and around weakened cotton.

I was covered in rancid blood, plastered with trash, and soaked in a foul mixture of cleaning supplies and moist garbage, but it was all worth it when I finally found a paperclip stuck in a spot of congealed blood.

All my struggles had not been in vain. I was saved. I took the clip to the door and felt out where the lock was. Unbending the paperclip, I pushed it into the mechanics and turned. No click.

I pulled it out and examined it closer. It was bent even further, the tip I'd inserted scratched up and rough. I drew a fingernail over it. The material parted easily.

This wasn't a metal clip. It was plastic.

I had all these materials around me, and yet there was nothing I could use. If only I could make something, I thought. If only…

And then I broke.

My mind shattered like a mirror that could no longer hold its own reflection. Fingernails dug into the wood of the door, I felt my very self seized by transformative convulsions.

DESTINATION

In the v̧o̢įd͘ there is no darkness and no light. There is no I, no y͘o͟u̴, no distinction between the world and its constituents. Should there be floating, it will be ur-floating, divorced from subject, beyond platonic. Should there be infinity, it will be incomprehensible, not just in the layman's understanding, but in all possible understandings: an infinity that formal systems could not capture nor could their inability to do so be captured. Should there be power or dimensionality or structure of any sort, it will exist in the space beyond conceivable reason, more elemental and atomic than the base it purports to be built on.

This s̸ce̛ne̶ ͝exists beyond time, in the neverending present, but it is not static. It ripples. Extralinguistic whispers permeate it, susurrations from a space beyond order.

A twist of nature curled in,

And tore my mind to pieces,

Leaving thoughts worn quite thin.

A twist of nature cu͝r͏le̸d in,

Squirmed and struggled from within,

Worming its way into mental creases.

A twist of nature curled in,

And tore my mind to pieces.

From this bubbling mi͢a͏s̶ma͞ of pure being, there rose into existence restrictions and language and objects and finally—in lurching motions, piece by piece, id, ego, superego—an I.

I felt unfettered, ųnb̨o͠und by earthly forces, drawn into the center of things into the place before coloration, shape, or even distinction.

In my sight: an orb of light illuminating nothing.

In my ears: the rattle of the upper range of a voice so d̕e͘e͢p͟ that most of what I thought I could hear, I was really feeling in the shaking of my bones. It imparted wisdom so wise that it couldn't be understood.

In my mind: the recurring impression of something v͏a̛st.

All around me: rhythmic pulsating. The universe squeezing and contracting. Pushing and pushing until it could push me out covered in blood and guts, but not just covered—I was becoming the waste splattered over m̨e.

AGREEMENT

It was like breathing for the first time. Rebirth, g̵͡ơ͡r͠͞͏y̛ ̢͘and good.

In blood I saw it

And from b̡́ĺ̡͞o̶̕͢͝͠o̧͞d҉̛̛̕ ̸̶̛͘͡I drew it forth

To blood it returns

It became clear that the universe was much b̵͘̕i͠g͟g͟͠e͏̀r ̸͜than I'd expected. I could see myself as a speck on a planet assaulted by the questing tendril of an e̡͘l̨͜͞ḑ̢͜e͠r͘͟ ̀god. The planet shrank to a point, but the tendril seemed unchanged. Solar systems, galaxies, clusters, whole dimensions shrank, becoming inconsequential relative to the tremendous t̵h͜i͠ǹg̀ reaching into them.

It seemed to blossom, like the p҉e̴tal̴s̛ ͟of a flower folded too tightly for even higher geometry to comprehend opening up and twisting through d̕i̴men̛sio͡ǹs̕ in dizzying ways.

My mind was flooded with imagery, voices, conçepţş, but most of all by a sense of sheer scale. I wasn't sure what I was looking at yet, but I could tell that it was big. Large. H͘͢ų̷̢͏g̢̨̕è̸͠! Sizes beyond the bounds of language and its pitiful allowance of synonyms.

A set grew bigger

Complete and closed, it o͏̨҉ú̀t̵̨̛͜͝ṕ̡a̡͡c̷̸͝ę̵̛́d̵̢́͘

All fast-growing functions

The orb in my vision grew from point to particle. Still, its light did not fall on anything, only becoming brighter and brighter, until it flashed white and I was transported out of self and time into zéi͢͞t̵͟g̕e̶i̷̕st̸̶s long gone.

My senses came back in stuttering st̍ͩ̓ë̄̎p̒ͩ͒̐̈́̓sͤ͐.

Creatures and cultures flooded my mind, their roles and behaviors and uses. They were machines to subvert. I could see rains of shards falling upon them and imbuing them with power. An elongated zebra-like creature lifted up into the air. Another unleashed beams of f͘͠i͝r̨e̶̡̧. A third collapsed into a puddle and swallowed all who came near.

Fields of ashen shame

S͟҉̕w̢̢͡i̛͢r̴l̸e̴d͘͞҉ ̷͝up by torrential rains

Drift down around me

Eighteen limbed reptilian creatures toiled under the ģ̵̧́ļ͜͠҉ơ̵̸w̶̷͡ ̨̀͘of two blue stars. They began to evolve, some turning different colors, others twisting into even more alien shapes, and wars broke out. Flashes of power, attempts to destroy, to win, all pushing understanding ever further, until eventually they stopped being useful.

In the distance, go̧l̷d͞ a͜nd ̴silv̶er̀ r͡an ţo͡g̸e͘t̵her͏ iń t̸h̨e̶ s̕ky. They looked up only to have the ground beneath them crack, split, and tear in two. They fell into crevasses, past rocks, over magma.

The world was torn asunder, flash-fried, and detonated, its energy consumed to fuel the next rotation of the g̢҉ŕ̨͏aņ̸d͟ ҉̢ç̵y̧c̡l̕͞e̴̕.

TRAGE҉CTORY

What was left was the remainder of what had once been but was n̨̢͜͠o̶ more. It overflowed with properties cleaved from the lost whole that birthed it, existing in self-similar forms reminiscent of themselves.

In shape and geometry, it moved and was as it had always been for the meagre ţ̴̧͇̩͚͇̜͔͢ͅi͏̛͉͖̙͈̙̮̺͖̫̟͢͡ͅm҉͔̭̘̖͖̭̥̣̪͍̻͍͉͙͉͜e̪̫͎̜͈͇̳͔̘̥̝͟͡ͅ ̷̢̢̡̣̪̥͈͕̞̹͓̲͉̭̫̗̣it had existed. Its flattenings identified with its projections. Its lines and edges and curves stood stark against each other, defining an outline that corresponded to what it looked like.

Imagine a silhouette given depth and colored in,̀͋̍͋ͫě̡́x͊ͪ͑̈̓͛ͯt͂ͧͪ͑͏r͊̑̔ͬ̃ͭͭ͏u̷͌ͯ̑̈́d̷ed̄́ ̑̏̐̈͒̊͏iͧ̍̊n̨͂͒͑t̅ͬͣ͗͐ͨ̀ö͂͑̔ ͥ̑ͧ͢th̃͛͛̐̚e̓͋͆̀ t̴̆ͣͬhͮ͗̓͗̐̅i̷ṙͦ͢d͂̓͒̒͋ ̸̓̀͋ͦͯd̓̓ͪ̎i̿̑ͦ̐ͥ̎̊m̧͛̑̃̆͛e͛̑ͦͦͨns͏i̧ͥͦ͗͆oͯñ̀̅̎ͯ and furnished with reflection and hue and texture. Now allow that silhouette the motion of a puppet, but make the strings invisible and smooth out every jerk until it looks natural and apply physical forces to the construction to further embed it in our w̨̡͞ơr̸̛̕͞l͘͠d̵̕͟.

This is what I saw.

The land

On which I grew

The daisies of my youth

Has collapsed and gone away now.

G̤͔ͩ̉̂̎r̛̫̬̞̍ͯo̹̐ͦ̋̾̚͜w̓͆̆ͧͦ̽͏̮ ͩ̉ͮ̑̍̂͆u̟̩͕p̫̙̦̉͛ͧ͌̂ͪ.

In flesh and blood and guts I see

A future and maybe,

With some luck, a

Present.

I floated in a cage of light, overwhelmed by the brightness of my visions. G҉̶o̷̧d͘s҉̵͟ ̨͘̕reached their unwashed hands into m͜͝y̢ ̸b̵͠ra̶ín̕͜ and shuffled the neurons around, turning r̵o̶̡̕ţ̷͝t̴͠i̛͠n̵g̶̡ ̧j̵e͜l҉l̷͡ý͘ into sacred instruments of destruction. Moist noises squirmed their way to the front of my skull and poked at my eyes until they bled with tears.

Deep murmurings rose in pitch until I could un͝d̷er̡s̛ta̛nd͟ them.

Taylor H̨̕͜e̷̢͢͜͞r̡b̸̀ę̶͢͜͝r̸̴̛̀͡t̶̨̨̨͢.

That wasn't right. I'm Hebert.

Nevertheless. Are you in the market for s̸̢̀͟ư̵̧͜ṕ̡͟͡e̸͜r͏̴҉̕ń̢̡͘͝a̧̛t̸̢̡͟u͠͏̢r̸̡̛͟͠a̶̛l̶͏̛͏ ̵̴̢̡͞á̴̷b̸̷i̷͡l̶̶̛͢i͝͏̡t̸̀͜͟i̶̶̢͢҉é̸͟͟s̢̀͘͠?

None of this made any sense. I swept my hand through time and space and banished the hallucination in a shower of glittering stars. It was false, and distracted me from the t̜̼̦̳͍̤̱̺̼̞͚r͖͕̦̬͈̤̗̦̟̣̯͚̗̠͉̮u͓̠̖͍̻̫͍͔̞̤̙̥e̲͔̪̟̻͙̹͓̩̠ ̩͓̗̫̪̦̪͍̹̯̬͔̫̫̫ͅv̮͓̣̦͔̟̤̖̫̺ị̳̯͇̟s̜̖̱̥̥͖̥͓̲i͖͕͙̣̮̭̱̲̼̪̗͓̙͉͓o̭̙̥̞̥̻̬̱̟̠n̞̜̼̟̦̟̣͕s̹͈̱͎̬͖̖̩̝̪͍̮̞͓ͅ around me.

The symbols whirling around me began to slow and drift closer. Transcendence. I could almost see the—help—end of it all. Already my memory was beginning to f̧̡͘͡a҉̨́d̷͝͝e͏́҉, the co͜r̨r̶up͞ti̢ng ͏fi͝n̷gers of a̴͞ ̴̢̡d̸̷̸҉r̵͜é͡ą̸d entity rea̡͢c̴̢̡hing into my mind, silencing dissIt hurts oh it hurtsent and knowledge.

I tried to hold onto it all tighter, but time seemed to granulate an̷d̀͟ ͜͟p̸̶̢͜o̷̧͠w̷̶d̡̡̢͟͞er, becoming finer and finer until it sliped throug̵̶h̵҉̛m̷̡͡y͏҉͡f̡̕͟͟͝ingers.

The lights around me were accelerating, all towards me. Time-space bent bent bent in, hunching over me and f̡҉o̡͟͡l͞͠d͘i͠n̵͢͝g ̡o̷͝v̸̢e͠͡ŗ҉͏ ì̀t̶̴ş͟e̸l͝f́͞. Sounds moved from external to internal until they come to consume were smOtHe̴͘r̵ed.

Two absolute units circled around each other. A m̶atìng̵ p̨a̧i̧r͞.

It—all—collapsed—to—a—point.

In dreams

I see m̴y̧ ́wants

They whisper so s̴̴̛oftĺ͢y̸҉̢

All I need to f̢̛̹̥̩̤̹̘͇͢͠į̡̧͈̞̠͔̦͔̠͎̜͖̙̘͈̥̹͘͢ǹ͚̭͈͎̥̩͝d͜͏̯̠̺͙͇̯̪͖̙̠̠̲͇̦͓̖ͅ ̸̸̪͖̫̗͟͢in life is

Power

Unstoppable giants to lay low

A little fame and f̷o̶̸̕r͞t̷͟u̸n͘͢͜e͝ ̀͡

Please just come and

H̨̨̕͡e̷̢͘ļ̛̀͘p͟͏̶͟ ̷̴̨̢̢ḿe͞͠

Everything is s҉mearing apart a͏g͝ai̢n̕. Th t y that I sahelpw, that I glimps̴ed for t̶̡͞h҉̵̧͠é̕͞͡͏ ̶́barThey're here they're hereest of moments, is yet again turning to̡̕͝͡ ̴̛҉̕ḑ́͝ust. Time itself has fallen apart, leav̴̴̡͞i̸̵͜ǹ͡g̵̡͠ ͢͟m̕͏̛e alone once more in the eternalpre͜͟͏̛ś̢ȩ̸͡nt.

Stars coalesce into being, but they only manno ş̷̛́҉t̵͜҉o̕̕͟͢͢ṕ̷̛́ ̕҉pleaseage to doom us all spell out letters. A great big contract in the sky, drawn up by some d̴̕e̸̡ì̷͟͠t̴̨͞͝y̕͢҉͘, my signature already forged on it. Power for a͇ͧ̊̃ͨ ̴̘̗̫̟̘͍͉ͨ̆ͭ̾̿͑l̋̌̌ͤ̑̃ì̝̩̰̈̃̚t͕̮̲̰̳̖̋̄ṯ̗͖͚̣̦̙̑̿̒͒ͬ̾̇͞ĺ͆̍͑̐̋͛͏͖͍e̟̍̐̋ͭ͊͝ ̰̤̜͔̦̃̔̍͘b̧͇ͮ̌̐i͐̔̈́̔̿t̷̩̘̦̼͌͆͆ ̇̽̈́͛ő̢͓̱̘͕̖͊f̹ͨͦͧ̓ free will. So many lonely stars.

Nothing but balls of ᴘᴀʟᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ all around. I can't—help me—They flash into somALL IS LOSTething. I'm unununable to sţ̸̷͟o̷̶͝͠p. The great maw of a beast. Opening. Oᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ! It's coming. I want to stop it, to eɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʏcle to cu—r̛҉̸a̵̷̴̵í̸̷͟ǹ̵͝s̡̕͜͡͝ ҉͡b́͢͜͝l̀͟͝͏e҉͜͜͠e͟͢d̴̕ì́̀n̸̵̕͡͠g̕͜ ̨̢ẃ̧͘͢i̶͠͏̧̨t҉̡͘͢͟h͏̵̛͠ ͘͟͠p̸̨ower and unholy enlightenment—t it off (ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ).

The final quenching. It's ((over. In̴̶̴̕͢s̸̢͝͏ide) the mouth). s-so beautiful Help. Growing drEAd. thestars wink out. Fͭͮ͆i̐ͨ̇ͫ̂rͥ͐̈́ͦéͮ. Sin after s̸̢i̧ņ́͜ ̡after s̷̷̡͟i̛ņ̧̛͠͞ ̛͜҉flowing—e̷ń̨́͞d̢͞҉̨l̴̷̨̕͠e̸̡̛͜s̶̕s̵͠͡—noNoNOnoo th̸̳͍̹̰͈̩̰̻̖͇̕͜i̶͇͓̰̬̖͍̩̣̙̭̮̼͍͢͝͝ͅn҉̷̡̞̩̦̳̬͠͡g. I open my e̕͜y҉̡̡e̶͜͏͢͝s͏̵̷͜.

AGREEMENT

When I came to in the closet again, I had powers.

This time, there would be no janitor to come and unlock the door for me. I turned to Firefly. "We need to get out there and stop whoever is bombing my city."

She still didn't look convinced. "Your—"

"You'll get to examine the suit a bit more if you come with me," I added.

She blinked at me and took a deep breath. "Okay."

People milled about. Teachers circled around, some standing, some pacing. What mattered was keeping in mind their fields of vision, which way they faced, what they actually looked at.

If we moved slowly, and made sure to stay out of line of sight, we should be able to get out. The problem was that the distance from the center of the field to the nearest bleachers was empty. Grass, running track, concrete, bleachers. Nothing to hide behind.

We needed a distraction, and since we didn't have anything to make one with, we needed a patsy. Emma wasn't around, lost somewhere in the crowd, but I found a gullible teacher.

"Excuse me, Mr. G," I said.